


Whispery night breeze

by Nagiru



Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: (as in: at the end you can see it but at the beginning you really can't), (it's not that important tho), (not gender dysphoria. just some general... body dysphoria), (oh. Ran also makes an appearance), KaiShin Secret Santa 2020, M/M, Shinichi-centric, Some angst, The Detective Boys appear in one part, and Haibara in another, chronological order is not that big in this story, post-Conan Shinichi, struggling with depression (maybe), there's some dysphoria implied at parts but it's nothing too heavy (i think), this could possibly be rated Gen but I decided to use Teen for precaution, this is more of pre-slash than proper romance I'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28169928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nagiru/pseuds/Nagiru
Summary: After the BO and the whole thing with Conan, Shinichi sometimes has trouble being himself again. Some things... help, though. And maybe it's high time he gets back to the thing that made him happiest as Conan.------A criminal that never hurts anyone if possible, that’s something that he really needs, something he isn’t ready to give up on just because he can deal with more again. Something that makes it easier to breath, easier to be himself. Something so simple and fun, instead of a duty to fulfill.
Relationships: Kudou Shinichi | Edogawa Conan & Kuroba Kaito | Kaitou Kid
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59
Collections: dcmkkaishinevents kaishin secret santa 2020





	Whispery night breeze

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Icarusdg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icarusdg/gifts).



> I am... not sure what your nick on AO3 is, Icarus, sorry. But! This is a gift for [@icarusdg](https://icarusdg.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr!
> 
> Ok. So. I read your prompts and instantly was taken by "Post-BO, figuring what life is again", and when I saw that light angst was ok, I just... might have... ran on with it. It ended up much longer than I expected, and the "Getting together" part didn't _quite_ get into it, but!!! There's some implied of Shinichi guiding the Detective Boys, at least? ;)
> 
> This was... _really_ fun to write. Naming, not so much, and the summary is... well. But writing it was really nice! Thanks for the prompts and the, ah, slight... openness of what you'd like, haha.  
> Hope you enjoy it! :D

Shinichi breathes in deeply, looking around for a moment. It’s ingrained, by now. He steps outside and, before doing anything else, he looks around. This time, it’s a quick thing; he just stepped into the shop for a minute or two, after all, and didn’t turn his back to the windows for a second. There’s _nothing_ out here, and there’s enough people for that not to be another warning bell in his mind.

He clenches his hand around the styrofoam cup he holds, the warmth of it shocking him back into movement. Right.

He breathes out and crosses the street. The park is just around the corner, and he picks up speed a bit when he sees the children waiting there.

“Hello,” he says when he’s close enough, a smile on his face. “I heard there was this mighty intelligent group of children around, have you seen them? They call themselves the Detective Boys, I believe…”

He gets a giggle for his attempt, and his chest untightens a bit at the sound. Ayumi smiles brightly at him when she raises her head, just as cheerful as ever, and he drops down to one knee to look at them better.

“Hey, Shinichi-nii!” Ayumi greets him loudly. The boys quickly repeating the greeting, eyes lit up with excitement.

“Hey, Trouble.” He sips his coffee, allowing the warmth and sweetness of it to settle him down even more. “So. What are you up to this fine morning?”

They start talking one over the other, Mitsuhiko trying to tell him about the puzzle he left them with last week, Genta saying _he_ wants food, because he’s _hungry_ , and Ayumi trying to convince him to play with them, because Ai-chan wasn’t able to meet them today, and Shinichi is _such_ a good playmate, and _won’t he?_

His smile softens as he hears them out. Not all of his memories hurt him, anymore, and part of that is _certainly_ these kids’ fault.

“How about we go grab some breakfast and you can tell me what you made of last week’s puzzle while at it?” He offers, getting back up. “After that, we can see if there’s anything interesting around for us to study— or we can play something, if everyone agrees with it.”

They cheer, voices loud and happy, and he looks at the empty space in the back as they run ahead for a moment, before he shakes his head and hurries after them.

Not all memories hurt him, anymore, but not all of them feel good, either. And sometimes, just sometimes, something manages to be both.

**.**

Some days, he wakes with his chest too tight, his every breath hurting him, and feeling like he’s _burning up_.

Those are bad days. Those are days when he stares at the walls around him and can’t really _recognize them_. Those are days when he looks in the mirror and a too small figure laughs his face off at him, and he doesn’t know who he is anymore.

( _Too short, too **young** a figure stares back at him, smirk in place that twists the one he used to have. The clothes, so familiar and so wrong; glasses where there should be none, reliance on physical **clutches** he never needed before._

_He grimaces, and the figure laughs, and he turns around, anger and fear and **wrongness** boiling within him._

_That’s not me, he tells himself over the sound of pain and madness in his mind. “That’s **not me** ,” he repeats out loud, when the words aren’t enough to deafen the cries and laughter and too high pitched words that haunt him. “Not anymore.”_)

Some days, he wakes up with a soft _nee-chan_ in his lips, a memory playing up in his mind, and the knowledge that he’ll get up and have good food and even better company.

Those are even _worse_ days. Those are the days when he stares at the walls around him and he _recognizes them_ , but they are not what he wants to see. Those are the days when he looks in the mirror and sees a _too big_ figure frowning angrily at him, and he doesn’t think he _wants to be this anymore_.

_(He just wants to be… **okay** again._

_Like before. Except… before **when**? Before everything, when he was someone he doesn’t know how to be anymore, when he was someone he doesn’t think he **wants** to be, anymore? Or before the antidote, when he was **scared** , but also **happy**? Before, when he had an actual family — except, **which** family was that? Before…)_

And some days… some few days, he’s thankful enough to wake up with damp eyes but a loose chest, and he can recognize things, and he can regret things, and he can _accept_ things.

Most days are still hard, but every once in a while, he sees the new curtains on his windows, the new nest he made for himself in his room, and hears the sound of a distant radio playing in another room, and he breathes easily again. On those rare days, he knows who he is, and his mirror image is neither too small nor too big.

**.**

He changes most of the furniture of his house not a week after getting his body back.

It might sound ridiculous for some, and it might sound _too much_ for others, but. When he sees the too dark, too old, too _dusty_ things that surround him, he ends up thinking of too cold, too silent, too _dead_ rooms, and he… doesn’t want that anymore.

His house feels too _quiet_ those days before the week is done, and as soon as he is back on his feet and allowed by his “doctor” to _do_ things, he decides to change that.

Another week after that, his house feels a lot more like a home, and he doesn’t know if his parents would even recognize it anymore— if they ever came back.

(sometimes, that thought still hurts — it is by now an old hurt, though, and that, in a way, is almost… _freeing_ in itself)

The walls are painted a brighter color, the rugs are all changed, there’s something of a _nest_ in a corner of the library for himself, and he even changed one of the empty rooms into an office-like space that he can use when he wants to.

It’s… somewhat strange, sometimes, but it also makes every room _unfamiliar_ and, as such, unrelated to any of the many memories that haunt him— and he takes great pleasure in knowing that, and in making these rooms _familiar_ , one day at a time.

It’s slow work, and it sounds small, when he really thinks about it, but… it helps, in a way, and that’s honestly more than he expects, more than he ever dares _wish for_ , and… well. And when he wakes in a bad day, that’s at least a first step.

**.**

“I’m sorry,” he tells Ran-nee— _Ran_. He doesn’t look directly at her, can’t see the heartbreak that he knows is on her face, can’t swallow the guilt enough to accept his responsibility for that. “I know I asked you to wait, but…”

There’s a choked sound at that. His brain goes in overdrive, trying to decide whether that’s a sob or a chuckle or a swallowed down _scream_ , and he breathes slowly and tells himself to _stop_. He’s on a break. He’s not _detective-ing_ right now.

“You know…,” she says, her voice cutting through his thoughts like a knife. “The worst part is, I _knew it_. I knew… I knew who you were, but I just thought— if it _were_ you, you would have _said something_. You would… you would have _told me_ something…”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, for possibly the tenth time just that afternoon. “I couldn’t… couldn’t you put in danger like that.”

“Shinichi…” She sighs, the sound heavy and hurt, and it _hurts_ him. It makes him tear up, just a bit, remembering all the times he called her from _right beside her_ , just on the other side of a wall, and _heard her cry_. All the times he made her empty promises, because he didn’t even know if he would _survive_.

Remembers all the times his own recklessness almost caught up to him and put an end not just to himself, but to _her_ as well.

He had already put her in danger, whether he told her the truth or not, and they both knew that.

“ _I’m sorry._ ”

He doesn’t look at her face. He doesn’t know if he simply doesn’t want to see her cry, or if he doesn’t want _her_ to see _him_ cry.

**.**

He realizes he doesn’t feel like this is his body — and that he _won’t_ feel like this is his body, not if he goes on like this — a month after the antidote.

It’s not a big realization; it is, instead, a dreadful knowledge that has haunted his every step since the moment he first woke up to an empty house with too much _silence_ to fill his mind.

His house is still too big and too silent, even after all the changes he brought upon it. There is no snoring, no obnoxious TV, no humming as someone cooks, no _life_. It is just… _too quiet_. An empty space that echoes around him with death. An abandoned place, full of cobwebs and stale air, even after it has been cleaned and aired—

Except, _no,_ he tells himself. It’s no longer an abandoned place, it’s no longer full of stale air— it’s just _too quiet_ , and his brain is just too _full_ , and it’s still a problem, of course it is, but…

But it’s a problem he can _fix_ , one step at a time, and he already took the first one. His _home_ is no longer dead and abandoned, and all it took was a week to make it _his own_ , a week of new clothes and new furniture and new paint.

Now it’s time for _him_ to… _renew_ himself. The house is no longer too quiet, but his brain _is_ too loud still, and he keeps… _seeing_ someone who isn’t there whenever he looks into a reflective surface, and he keeps _unseeing_ who should be there, and he just…

He’s just _tired_ , and he needs that to change, and to reach that… to reach that, he needs to take another step, small or not.

So he buys new clothes until he is more comfortable. He gets out of the house, but not to the point of _running away_. He starts cooking for himself, because he realizes that’s actually a _thing_ he should probably do.

He goes to coffee shops, because he remembers he _can_ do that, now, and he actually craves coffee again — and then he starts _experimenting_ with his tastes, because apparently after two years of being a child, he doesn’t quite like bitter black coffee anymore.

He walks through roads that are both familiar and strange to him, taking in every single detail he _knows_ and writing them down into his bones all over again. He stops at different spots, breathes deep and slowly, and looks around — because some things are harder to break than others —, and he… takes in the world, and takes in his own thoughts.

It doesn’t stop his nightmares, doesn’t stop the bad days, doesn’t stop the images that _are not there_ in the mirrors — but it eases his breathing, and it makes his chest a bit less tight, and that’s… a step.

Seeing familiar children walking down a street and realizing that he _misses_ them is… the beginning of yet another step.

Introducing himself to what he would have called his _friends_ just a couple months ago is… weird. And freeing. And he realizes that he really, _really_ misses them, not just from his memories, but from the way their smiles make him _lighter_.

And that— _that_ is another step. Stopping them, talking to them about Conan (not the truth, just the agreed on lie, of course), offering them an ear… that’s a step.

And it’s a step that reminds him of _another_ step he can take, something he always enjoyed, and something he may still enjoy, bigger bones or not.

**.**

He breathes in slowly, the scent of chocolate and coffee coming strong from the cup in his hands. There’s a chilly bite to the air, autumn almost making way to winter, and he needs a new scarf, actually— he breathes out, focuses back on the _now_.

Two minutes to midnight, his clock tells him.

He chugs down the rest of his drink and gets up to toss it in a bin. And to make a last round, just in case.

There has, of course, been no change since his last round — just five minutes earlier. He didn’t really _expect_ there to be any (visible) change, really, but better safe than sorry. Besides, it’s good to get his blood pumping again, and he _knows_ he’ll need that in —he checks the clock again— one minute and twenty seconds.

One _always_ needs to be alert and ready to run on a KID heist.

He finishes his round just in time, returning to his original place with ten seconds to spare, the crowd outside the cordoned off area counting loudly with the clock.

“ _Nine…_ ” Shinichi breathes in. “ _Eight_.” He looks around. “ _Seven_.” — is _that_ … “ _Six_ ,” He curses silently, all lights going out around him, “ _five!_ ” He takes a step forward. “ _Four!_ ” Light reflects on glass as the show lights come on, he closes his eyes reflexively. “ _THREE._ ” He takes a step back, he won’t make it. “ _TWO_ …” He readies to run.

“One!” Finishes KID himself, grinning as he stands over the case showing the diamond he came to steal. “Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to a beautiful starry night!”

One of the simplest presentations come online, the ceiling above them coming alive with millions of stars. It is, Shinichi has to admit, _very_ beautiful.

It’s also very distracting.

He looks around, trying to find KID — he’s standing _by_ the glass case, now, North Star on one hand, and the other raised.

“Thank you for the gift, Inspector!” KID says cheerfully. “I’ll leave you with some of my own, now. Please— _do_ enjoy.”

There’s a loud coo, and Shinichi quickly flings the door behind him open as he sees a dozen of doves descending from the fake sky, as if coming from the stars themselves. Around KID, the police starts falling to the ground, and Shinichi can barely smell a sweet scent in the air before he pushes the door locked.

Escape route it is.

He runs up on the stairwell (and it’s so _good_ being able to skip so many steps at once; _this_ is one thing he doesn’t regret for a second), and is pleased when he manages to toss open the door to the observation tower without losing even a second of breath.

KID is already there.

Shinichi smirks, allowing the thief to check his diamond under the moonlight before speaking up. “Found you, KID.”

White glove hides the diamond from view quickly, and Shinichi enjoys the sight of slight startle. When KID turns around, of course, he has a grin on his face and shows no sign of surprise. “Meitantei! What an honor to have you here!” He bows down with flair. When he gets back up, the North Star is nowhere to be seen. “I must say, I did not know whether you would be coming to my shows anymore. I’m happy to see you again.”

That… sounds too much like _honesty_. Shinichi doesn’t know what to say to that.

“When I apply myself to something, I don’t like giving up on it midway through,” he answers blankly. “I’ve chased you at least once before. Seeing how I now have the time and freedom to do so again, I thought, ‘why not?’”

_A criminal that never hurts anyone if possible, that’s something that he really needs, something he isn’t ready to give up on just because he **can** deal with more again. Something that makes it easier to breath, easier to **be himself**. Something so simple and **fun** , instead of a duty to fulfill._

On the distance, they both can hear Nakamori screaming in anger.

“Haha. The Inspector is so lively as always.” KID says, as if commenting on the weather. Shinichi hides a smirk of his own. “I’m afraid that means our time must be cut short, Meitantei. I’ll be seeing you next show, hmm?”

Shinichi does smirk, now. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

KID stares at him for a second — not long, for a normal person, but for _KID_ … Shinichi feels a thrum of pleasure coursing through his skin. Shinichi answers by raising his left arm.

Moonlight reflects off the face of his clock. Twelve past midnight, Shinichi sees distractedly. He’s more focused on the realization dawning on KID’s face.

 _His aim is better than it was back when he was last Shinichi_ , he thinks pleased as his dart goes flying straight at where KID’s throat would have been, if the thief hadn’t flinched back and dropped down as quickly as he had. After two years of _depending_ on his aim, though, he isn’t surprised.

KID laughs, and Shinichi would like to take it as a show of surprise, but… he thinks KID may honestly be _delighted_ by this, the stupid thief.

(laughter echoes in his head, mocking and teasing and terrifying— and now, delighted, and it’s all caused by him, all of them, but this one is _different_ , somehow; this one doesn’t make him cringe, doesn’t make him hide, doesn’t make him retreat; this one makes him _glow_ )

“I see.” KID comments when he’s back up, his card gun in hands. “It seems like I’ll have to prepare better for your next event. After all, I aim to please.”

He fires off just as they can hear Nakamori’s footsteps coming up the stairs. The card manages to distract Shinichi for a second too long, coming straight at him as it is, because when he looks up from his dodge, KID is already falling back, hand-glider coming out as he goes up—

No. He squints, staring as Nakamori burst out into the tower by his side, screaming after the flying thief.

No, that’s not KID.

Shinichi smirks, watching as Nakamori sends police officers to chase after the _doll_ flying off in the skies.

_Well done, Kaitou KID. Well done._

**.**

“So, you’ve gone back to your cat and mouse game, Kudo-kun.”

He startles a bit, looking up from his book to see Haibara standing by the door of his library, white coat on. He looks at his clock and swears; _of course_ he forgot his appointment.

“Haibara.” He greets with a twist to his lips (is it a smile? Is it a grimace? Who knows!).

“Sit up. Since _someone_ decided to run about in the cold, I need to check that your lungs haven’t gotten worse— _again_.”

He ducks his head and obeys her. He sits up and turns his back to her, allowing her to raise his shirt to hear his breathing.

“Wait, wait, what game of cat and mouse?” He asks as he remembers her words.

She makes a little _tsk_ sound, slapping him lightly. “Stay still, Kudo-kun.” _Right_. “And you and your _thief_ , of course. ‘Is this the rise of a new KID Killer?’ Very dramatic, as always.”

He flushes — but does his best not to react too much, not wanting to be chided _again_. He also waits until she says she’s done with his back to say anything else. “It’s not a, a _game_ …”

“Isn’t it?” She asks blandly. “Turn around.”

He does, but continues speaking before she can tell him to shut up ( _again_ ). “No! I’m _chasing_ him. It’s a… _challenge_.”

“A challenge.” He frowns at her tone of voice. “How _sweet_. And don’t you see challenges as games, Kudo-kun? Isn’t that _exactly_ what you always give the kids when you’re playing with them? _Challenges_? Puzzles, chases… hide and seek. Those are _exactly_ your favorite games.”

She… isn’t _wrong_.

But. “He’s a _thief_. I’m just trying to catch him.”

“Are you?” She raises his shirt again, and the touch of cold metal to his chest makes him hiss a bit. “And what do you intend on doing after _catching_ him? Will you turn him to the police?”

“Of course—”

“Even if it means never hearing _why_ he’s doing it?”

He stops. _Would he?_

He frowns at the ceiling above their heads, silently obeying whatever order Haibara gives him. He _knows_ there’s a reason why KID has been stealing. It’s obvious; not only is he _the second_ KID, way too young to still be the same person (unless _he_ also had an unfortunate run-in with the Apotoxin, but seeing how Haibara herself said Shinichi was the first living victim…). And there’s also the whole “checking the stones under the moonlight”, of course.

There’s a _reason_ there. And, Shinichi will admit, he _wants to know_. He wants to know more about it. Wants to know _why_. Wants to know if it’s… if it’s a _proper_ reason.

… wants to know if he can help, like KID always helped him against the Organization.

“I’m done.” Haibara says, dragging him back to the present. “Thankfully, you are still healthy. Next time, make sure you’re wearing _proper_ winter clothing, Kudo-kun. I would prefer not having to spend my holidays taking care of you.”

Shinichi nods automatically. “Yeah. Of course.”

… next time, huh?

**.**

In between hanging out ( _teaching, training— playing_ ) with the kids, trying (and maybe not always failing) to get a sort of relationship back with Ran, talking to Hattori through the phone, getting his school work done with and getting ready to graduate in a month’s time, and chasing KID… Shinichi almost feels like himself, again.

He still wakes trembling sometimes. Still checks everything around him whenever he steps out or into some place. Still doesn’t quite recognize his own reflection, sometimes. Still leaves the radio on every evening.

But he’s feeling more like _himself_ , now, through all of that.

Haibara tells him he should probably look into a therapist, but they both know he won’t — how would he even _explain_ his problems without talking about being a child two times? The Organization might be broken, but there was always the risk of _someone_ being free, always the risk of any knowledge of them putting people in danger…

No. He wouldn’t look into a therapist.

Still, _something_ is doing seems to be working, one way or another. Maybe it’s the taking control of his life. Maybe it’s the relationships that he’s building (again). Maybe it’s simply not _denying_ everything…

He doesn’t know. He reads a bit on psychology, on therapy, on trauma— he reads, but that doesn’t mean he’s a professional, and doesn’t mean he _wants_ to be one. Despite everything, despite all the troubles it brought him…

Shinichi still wants to be a detective. Still craves the puzzles, the search, the chase. Still _needs_ to solve crimes, to save people, to bring justice to the dead.

And that… that might actually _help_. Knowing that, it makes all the pain, all the fear, all the habits he can’t quite kick— it makes all of that _worth it_ , sometimes.

(the fact he now _has_ a puzzle all his own to chase, to search? That certainly doesn’t make it _worse_ , either)

It’s not perfect — but it’s getting better by the week, he thinks. It’s not perfect, and it may never be perfect, but perfection is subjective, anyway.

It’s not _perfect_ — but he doesn’t _want_ perfect.

**.**

He’s properly clothed, this time. A new scarf around his throat, gloves on his hands, the newly-made belt on his pants.

If he could make his glasses less conspicuous…

He shakes his head, walking around the museum, watching the paintings and stones in exhibition around him. It’s twenty to 10 pm. Twenty minutes to the start of the heist.

There aren’t as many civilians here, this time. It _is_ the 25th of December, though, so Shinichi isn’t surprised. It might not be as big as the 24th, but there are still many people spending the day with their special other, even today. Any other year, _he_ would have been with Ran, this very evening.

This year, though… well.

He’s doing something that makes him happy, at least?

(Haibara’s words echo in his mind; _is_ this a game? Is this just a way to entertain himself? _Does_ he intend on turning KID in, if he ever catches him? Does he really just want to _know more_ …?)

He shakes his head a bit, turning around to go the other direction — and almost stumbles over a man standing behind him.

He has half a second to freeze up and think of escape routes before he realizes the man is actually looking at the painting beside him, his own back turned to Shinichi.

“Sorry,” he says, ducking to the side to step around him.

The man turns around, eyes wide. Well. Seems like he was even more distracted than Shinichi. “What? Oh! Sorry, am I in the way? Here, just—”

Whatever the man says next, Shinichi doesn’t quite catch. He’s too busy staring at his face— it’s… _so familiar_. First, Shinichi thinks it might be because he _does_ look a bit like Shinichi himself… but, no. It’s _related_ , but no, that’s not it…

He realizes his mouth is hanging open and closes it, his teeth clinking together too loudly for his own like.

“KID?” He finds himself asking, without even thinking about it.

He knows it’s the wrong thing to say (though not _wrong_ , by itself) the moment his brain catches up to his mouth. He doesn’t… he _shouldn’t_ ask that. Knows it will make him run, whether he _is_ KID or not.

But Shinichi also knows this man, whoever he is, _is_ KID. Knows in the way his eyes glint under the lights overhead. Knows in the way his face is similar enough to Shinichi’s that he _wouldn’t need a mask to play him_. Knows in the way he holds himself, fluid and unassuming.

Knows in the way the man’s eyes flash through recognition for half a moment — there and gone in an instant.

He’s _good_ — but Shinichi is a detective, _and_ he’s devoted a good part of his brain to understanding Kaitou KID. This man _is_ KID.

“What? Me?” KID laughs. “Nah. Big fan, though! I’m just a magician— well, I say _just_ , but I’m a magician _extraordinary_ , really. KID is good, but I’m going to be _better_.”

 _Not a lie_ , Shinichi thinks amused. There’s no deceit in KID’s words; he _does_ want to be better than KID. Wants a life _beyond_ KID, Shinichi gathers. Wants to be recognized for his own merits, instead of the infamy of a phantom thief.

It’s a good goal. Respectable. It says a lot about the man behind the mask — and it’s a sign that he _does_ want to stop thieving at a point. All good things, in Shinichi’s mind. More reason to say that KID steals because he _needs to_. Because he has a goal that _requires_ theft.

( _Even if it means never hearing **why** he’s doing it?_)

“My mistake,” Shinichi says, his brain once again working enough for him to _temper_ his words. “Kudou Shinichi, detective.”

KID keeps eye contact as he offers his hand — except, no, his fingers are curled all wrong for a handshake, it’s…

“Kuroba Kaito.” A flower pops from his hand — a yellow rose; friendship and joy, not the most unique option, but a classic and a magician’s favorite.

Shinichi takes it with a small twist to his lips. Hopefully it even looks like a smile. “So. Here for the show, then?”

KID— _Kuroba_ grins back. “Show, huh? Should you be saying that, _tantei-san_?”

… the _gall_ of him. Shinichi’s non-smile becomes a grin of his own at the nickname, the _tone_ of his voice. “I call what I see. KID makes sure to always turn his heists into shows — a misdirection, I’d assume. Magicians _are_ all about misdirection, aren’t you? If you bring enough people to your heist, you have a bigger poll of disguises to pull from… and, besides, it provides a bit of distraction to the police, along with a general outrage in case someone tries to ignore protocol.”

Shinichi pauses, then adds as if it were just an afterthought: “And, of course, the attention doesn’t hurt. Kaitou KID is quite narcissistic, after all.”

Kuroba blinks at him, apparently startled — then starts laughing. “You know, despite being a detective, I think I might like you.” His new grin is curled unevenly, one side showing a hint of teeth. Careless? No, but a bit more _honest_.

“Problems with detectives, Kuroba-san?”

“Only with those who try to catch KID.” He scratches at his neck lightly. “Us magicians have to stick together, you know.”

( _what do you intend on doing after **catching** him?_)

(beneath that, Shinichi hears: _do you even **intend** on catching him?_)

“I see. I’m afraid I’m still duty bound to trying to stop a thief, Kuroba-san.”

 _Stop_. The word rings in his ears even as they disappear from the air between them. _Stop a thief_. Not catch. Not _arrest_.

Stop.

… that’s an answer to think about later.

“Will you keep me company?” He asks, mind whirring away too quickly for him to properly follow all his thought processes. He looks at the clock; twelve more minutes to go. “I promise to leave you to the heist when the time comes. I have my own duty to fill, after all.”

Kuroba smirks at him — just a second, and then it’s gone. “Of course, _tantei-san_.”

They spend ten of those twelve minutes together. Shinichi would like to say it’s because he wants to keep an eye on the man who is probably KID, that he wants to _see_ the moment Kuroba becomes the international thief. That he is observing because of his _duty_ , that it’s just a ploy to catch the man red handed.

Honestly, it’s more that he just wants to know _more_. Wants to see if he can catch a whiff of KID’s motives, a hint of what KID is as a _person_ , instead of a persona.

He isn’t left wanting. He isn’t entirely sure either of them is a persona, though.

Kuroba is… cheerful. A creative thinker. A good magician. _Scarily smart_. Talking to him, Shinichi feels _alive_. For those ten minutes, arguing literature and puzzles and the merit of KID’s past magic tricks, Shinichi feels his blood thrum and he doesn’t even think of what he’s missing, until the ten minutes run out and he realizes he needs to step away, or KID’s heist will likely be delayed.

“It was nice. Talking to you.” Shinichi says, smile much more honest now than it was in the beginning of their conversation. The yellow rose presses comfortingly against his chest through the pocket where he put it away. “Maybe we can do this again? Another day?”

Kuroba smiles back. There’s still some wariness in his eyes, Shinichi sees, but he would like to say there’s also some acceptance, there. Maybe even some wish for companionship, if he’s lucky. “Sure. As long as you don’t go around trying to arrest me for my supposed night job?”

Shinichi chuckles. “No. No, I won’t be arresting you.” It’s a promise, and he hopes Kuroba can hear it that way. “There’s no fun to catching a thief in his civilian persona, is there? If I catch _KID_ , I won’t say I’ll just let him walk, but I don’t plan on searching for him on the streets. I have a… heists only policy, let’s say.”

 _Yes. He wants to catch KID, despite everything_ , he thinks to himself, Haibara’s questions echoing in his mind for the millionth time that night.

If he’s going to turn him in to the police or not afterwards, though…

Well. He needs to know _why_. Anything after that…

He’ll cross that bridge when he comes upon it.

He turns to walk, waving lightly to Kuroba as he does. He’s already a couple steps away, breathing deep and slowly, looking around for anything out of place, when Kuroba calls him out again.

“It’s Christmas, Kudou Shinichi — what even _are_ you doing in a KID’s heist?”

Shinichi looks to the left, where there’s a window in-between two paintings. Outside, the night is beautiful. And cold. And surprisingly empty, for the time. Just a handful of couples mingling about, smiles on their faces and heavily clothed against the chilly air. There’s no snow, but the picture is still quite idyllic even without it. The picture perfect of a holiday night.

And Shinichi is working, despite it not being his jurisdiction. He’s here, in a KID’s heist, even when there’s no obligation for him to _be_ here.

He’s here, just because he _wants to be here_.

“Everyone could do with a bit of magic on Christmas, don’t you think?” He answers lightly.

He doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t look for Kuroba — for KID — again. He just walks on, until he’s standing by the doorway he expects KID to be making his escape through.

When the clock hits 10 pm, colorful, brilliant snowflakes start raining down inside the museum, and KID is sitting primly over the glass case housing the Spring Drop.

 _A bit of magic_ , he thinks with a smile.

When KID opens his mouth, Shinichi observes for just a moment long — long enough to see how the jewel disappears from the glass while everyone is distracted by the glowing lights falling on them. Long enough to see KID’s eyes search for him, for just a second. Long enough to see the colorful smoke start to spread.

Then he turns around and starts walking, straight upstairs.

He’s got a thief to catch… and a date to arrange.

**.**

The Spring Drop appears in his front door two days after the heist, a quick note taped to it.

It takes Shinichi less than an hour to decipher the code KID used, and then a little over a minute to actually comprehend what is written there.

It isn’t _quite_ a phone number, but it _is_ permission to look it up. It’s also cheekily signed with a _Merry Christmas_ , and a date. And one single, lost sentence in the back:

_Will you keep your promise?_

**.**

Kuroba Kaito awaits for him inside the café, a colorful mug in his hands and a cat lying on his lap.

Shinichi takes a moment to smile at the scene before stepping closer, petting the cat when he’s there.

“Kuroba Kaito.” He greets.

“Kudou Shinichi,” Kuroba answers in like, eyes intent and glinting with challenge.

Shinichi slides onto the seat in front of him. “I didn’t expect you to choose a cat café.”

“I didn’t expect you to come, especially not alone,” Kuroba says in the same tone.

They both stare at each other for a minute or two. Inside his chest, Shinichi’s heart thumps hard; excitement, adrenaline, interest.

That morning, he woke up covered in sweat, and from his reflection he saw a person who was too tall, a body too big for him. He had his radio playing the whole morning, and a burn on his fingers from where he tried to cook breakfast for himself.

He felt sick, he felt _wrong_ , he felt out of place.

He took a deep breath and stepped out anyway, because he promised himself to always _try_ , even on the hardest days, because he wanted to claim this body, claim this life, claim _himself_. He took a step outside, and he dialed a number he shouldn’t quite have, on a date he had considered again and again if he would do something about.

And now, here he is. His body still feels too big, his hands still feel too sweaty, he still feels the need to _move_ — but he also looks at this man who answered _anyway_ , who accepted his invitation anyway, who _contacted him anyway_ ; this man who looks him in the eye and knows there’s a threat here, but who goes on _anyway_ , because sometimes threats are acceptable.

And he smiles.

He’s not perfect. He’s not even terribly _okay_ …

But he wants to try this anyway. Wants to eat and drink and _chat_. Wants to know more of _Kuroba Kaito_ , and wants to hear the reasoning behind _Kaitou KID_ , and wants to see them more, wants to have other meetings, wants to… talk to them. To read books and talk about them. To show him the person he has become, and see if he’ll accept him anyway.

It’s scary — actually, it’s _terrifying_.

But it’s also _his_ choice, and it’s something that makes his heart jump with more than fear, and he… thinks that might be worth it.

( _don’t you see challenges as games, Kudo-kun?_ Haibara asks in his mind. And now. Now he has an answer.

He _does_. And he… thinks he might actually want more than a game of _cat and mouse_. Might want more than a _chase_ — more than a _challenge_.

KID is certainly a challenge, certainly something to be _enjoyed_ , but Kuroba… Kuroba Kaito is more, and Shinichi now wants to _learn him too_.)

“Like I said… I don’t plan on searching for KID on the streets, Kuroba-kun.” He looks around for a waitress to ask for his own mug of hot chocolate, spurred on by the scent coming from Kuroba’s hands. “What I want is just to meet with _you_.”

Kuroba smiles, eyes a tad bit less guarded. “Well then… I guess I can accept that, Kudou-kun.”

He’s fixing himself, one step at a time, and this… Shinichi dares think this just might be one of the biggest steps he’s taken so far.

**.**

Bad days don’t disappear just because he’s happy, he knows that. But… bad days don’t make his happiness less worth it, either, and now… now he _wants_ to have these happy days. These happy little moments. If he is to have such a big pile of _bad_ days, why not start piling the _good_ ones, as well?

And so, with trepidation in his chest and a skip to his steps, he takes a leap of faith. One day at a time, one secret at a time, one passed opportunity of catching an elusive thief at a time.

And for now, he doesn’t regret a moment of it.


End file.
